


Paint

by SpookshowBabyx



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookshowBabyx/pseuds/SpookshowBabyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror to my fic 'Attic'. Henry comes home covered in paint, causing Regina to seek out the Sheriff to give her a stern talking to. One thing leads to another and Emma decides that if she's going to be in trouble, she's going to give Regina a reason. Set after Emma and Mary Margaret return from their 'accidental hat adventures'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics not mine, they are 'Flame' by Bell X1. Also, as is probably obvious, I decided to deviate slightly from the show's story line and not have Cora follow Emma and MM back to Storybrooke.

"What on earth happened to you?!"

An incredulous cry from the end of the hallway has Henry imagining his plans to sneak upstairs undetected may have just been foiled. Grinning sheepishly, he makes his way slowly to where his mother stands with her hands on her hips in the kitchen doorway, toeing off his sneakers as he goes.

"Henry! What have I told you about doing that with your shoes- look, the backs are wearing already, and it's just plain laziness!- Come here, let me get a look at you..."

Regina fusses as she moves back into the kitchen which sits awash in the pleasant glow of the summer evening sun, ushering the boy to follow her as she plucks a glass deftly from its place on sparklingly clean shelves and pours him a healthy dose of milk.

"Good grief..."

She sniffs irritably, but hands over the glass which the small brunet accepts readily, her dark coals flickering over soiled clothing with unmasked distaste.

Blue jeans- his  _good_  jeans- and a partially untucked charcoal gray shirt crumple about his small frame chaotically; each item slathered with generous lashings of drying white paint, and she doesn't bother asking him where he's been in order to get himself into such a state.

"Oh, this is just taking things _too_  far..."

"Mom-"

"- Upstairs. Now. And don't you  _dare_  touch anything on the way! I want those clothes in the hamper and you in the bath in the time it takes Mr Glass to make his way over here, as you _clearly_  can't be trusted by yourself!"

She feels a small twinge of guilt as she admonishes him with these last words; there's no way she would ever leave Henry home all by himself with darkness so soon approaching, but she is angry, and the resultant look of guilt offered by the small brunet allows her to feel just that little bit more in control. A ridiculous notion as the boy is her _son_ , but he is also the Sheriff's, and she needs to make sure Henry doesn't allow the younger woman to fool him into thinking this kind of behaviour is acceptable.

"Where are you going?"

Henry asks- imagining he already knows the answer- making his way carefully up the stairs with his hands held out in front of him in an almost comical fashion.

"To ask Miss Swan just who she thinks she is allowing you to walk around- in _public,_  I might add- in the state you're currently in!"

The Mayor barks, confirming her son's suspicions.

"-We were just _painting_ -"

"-I can see that! Why you were even over there without asking permission in the  _first_  place is a question I will save for tomorrow morning, but if she thinks I won't be looking to her to pay for a new pair of jeans, she has another thing coming..."

Regina growls, more to herself than her son as the boy bites his lip awkwardly and disappears from view at the top of the stairs. He feels a little guilty; his intention in paying Emma a visit not to get the blonde into trouble, but he knows better than to argue her case to his mother.

And he  _had_  confessed he was a little worried about soiling his clothes.

 _"It's just paint, kid, it'll wash out! You're eleven, you're_ supposed _to be grubby!"_

Not the  _smartest_  words ever to leave the blonde's mouth, but he understands enough about the peculiar tension that has replaced the outright hatred between the brunette and the Sheriff upon Emma and Mary Margaret's return to imagine the younger woman had been perfectly  _aware_  of just how unlikely it would be for Regina to agree with this sentiment.

Sighing as she listens to the dull thud of defeated footsteps followed by running water, Regina summons Sydney; a much easier task now that she is back in control of her power.

Magic is still not something she uses on a frequent basis, as she has indeed tried her hardest to stick to Henry's wishes, but now that the blonde and her irksome mother are back in town she has allowed the odd hint here and there to aid her in everyday life. Such leniency has received no comment from Henry, however, and she supposes this might well have a lot to do with what the boy had witnessed down at the wishing well, despite her best efforts to keep him away and out of danger.

It had been an odd couple of weeks when the Sheriff had first arrived home; the tension between the two of them as thick as ever, but the emotions subtly different. She is still surprised the blonde invited her to the dismal gathering held at the diner upon her return, not just due to the altercations between them over the past year, but also because she simply hadn't imagined Emma to be one to make such a bold first move. As it is, she has found herself surprised by the blonde; the younger woman nowhere near as hateful- she has found- if left unhounded and at peace to go about her everyday life.

That, and the whole business with the turnover... Her mistake...

The bruises lining her back as a result of the Sheriff's emotionally changed fury back at the hospital had taken a good two weeks to fully disappear, but she had been given little time to dwell on the matter after the mishap with that dratted hat. During the time Emma and Snow had been at the mercy of the Enchanted Forest, she had spent little time thinking on the technicalities of the Sheriff disappearing for good- despite Gold's assurance that this could only serve to aid her in regards to Henry- as her focus had remained purely on getting her son back on her side; something for which- however irksome- she had figured out pretty early on she needed Emma alive.

At first, following the party at Granny's, the younger woman had proven herself hard to get hold of; she and Henry seeming to be forever 'out' or simply missing without any explanation altogether. After a couple of days, however, her son had come to find her- giving no reason for doing so, but offering her an embrace she hadn't realized just how much she'd missed- and had spent the night back in his old bed without word. She had expected Emma to come pounding at her door, demanding her claim on the boy as soon as the dimwitted little wretch suspected him to be missing, but such an annoyance had never come to pass.

Since then, she has seen little of Emma, but Henry has spent the evenings at hers, behaving in a way curiously similar to the way things used to be before receiving that hateful book. As such, she has found no opportunity to discuss the events leading to Henry's poisoning, other than the tense moment shared with the Sheriff at the hospital, and, much as the thought fills her with distaste, she has come to the conclusion that if she is to receive _any_  rest from her troubled mind, she needs to at least  _acknowledge_  the blonde's actions following Henry's collapsing in her apartment.

Not just  _anybody_  would have emerged victorious after a hard round with Malificent...

That... And she supposes there's a certain amount of air that needs to be cleared between them due to the intended poisoning itself.

She understands that at the time, her admission that she'd had little clue as to the fatality of the sleeping curse in this land had pertained to Henry, and that the Sheriff's thoughts had been for their son alone. Now though... She wonders if Emma has played back those words as she has herself and understood just what they meant...

The boy hadn't just slept... He had  _died._

And who would have kissed the Savior...?

A knock at the door shakes her from her reverie, and she stalks quickly over to let the disgraced reporter across the threshold, fussing with her hair as she reprimands herself for getting caught up in her thoughts.

After all, she may look upon the younger woman with a _little_  less hatred than she once had, but being just about tolerable is no excuse for letting her son get into the state in which he'd returned home.

* * *

_Your flesh it melts in my mouth  
_ _Like Holy Communion  
_ _But you don't really care for  
_ _Jesus now do you?  
_ _A photograph of our love_   
_Hangs on my wall  
_ _I would dare to speak its name  
_ _If I knew what it was called..._ __  


The blonde hums along as she lies on her back amidst a litter of old newspaper pages dappled white. She lies sprawled with one arm slung over her eyes as she moves one bent knee lethargically in time with the music as though conducting.

It is hot- boiling hot- and she lets out a sigh as she removes her arm in order to regain her vision- swiping at her forehead as she does so- staring absentmindedly up at the ceiling while she continues to hum.

The majority of the living room now shines a drying white, and she imagines it will only take another coat of paint before she can call it a job well done.

She had hoped to finish the worst of the task before retiring to bed, but having been paid a visit by Henry- while always well received- has put her back a few steps; her high cheekbones now striped relatively symmetrically with paint, and her jeans sporting a pattern of small, suspiciously boy-child sized hand prints.

Sitting up and wiping her hand lazily on a denim-clad thigh after accidentally resting her palm in a large dollop of paint, she reaches for the bottle of honey infused whisky resting in the corner and nips at it thoughtfully.

_Damn, what I wouldn't do for some ice..._

Wistful thinking as she hasn't even purchased a freezer yet; the small apartment currently harboring just a modest, newly built bed and a fort of cardboard boxes she really isn't looking forward to sorting out.

" _If_  I sort them out..."

A valid sentiment given the fact that several- and by several, she really means half- of the boxes in question have remained taped shut since arriving from Boston.

Still, it's nice to have her own space again, not that she hadn't found a peculiar sense of enjoyment in sharing Mary Margaret's apartment. No, it had just been a case of there being certain things in life a person only wishes to have to witness once, and for Emma Swan, walking in on her recently discovered parents 'doing it' had been pretty damn high on that list.

Shuddering at the memory, she allows a small smirk despite the emotional trauma. All else aside, she feels a small sense of excitement at the prospect of her new place; nowhere near as fancy as her penthouse back in Massachusetts, but nor does it need to be. She never thought she'd think so, but she'd take friends and, well,  _family,_  over an aesthetically pleasing skyline any day.

_Luxury and a view are nice and all, but expensive liquor can only provide so much company, and sometimes such pleasure and beauty become dull without anyone to share them with..._

A little philosophical for her tastes, but true none the less. She had been short on friends back in Boston- not having the want or will to keep them- and fucking strangers up against the glass overlooking the city had both tainted its beauty and enhanced it in a way that had made her bitter when nursing the aftermath with a mug of black coffee and smudged makeup.

Sighing as she takes another sharp bite of bourbon, she picks at a smear of dried paint just above her navel pensively; having removed her shirt after bidding Henry goodnight in hopes of escaping the worst of the heat.

"Who the fuck designs a building where the damn windows don't open?!"

Growling irritably, she runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to keep it from hanging limply about her face in dampening clumps. Her torso is slick with a light layer of perspiration and she imagines forgoing water in place of alcohol isn't doing her any favors.

Not that she has much choice in the matter.

"Water can't be switched on till Tuesday... How hard can it be to turn a fucking nozzle or whatever..."

_Enough, Swan, no need to get cranky over a little heat, it could be worse..._

Rolling her eyes as she throws her subconscious the disdainful request to shut the fuck up, she briefly entertains the amusing notion of going to the Mayor and asking for a wondrous,  _magical_  solution to her discomfort before letting out a low sardonic chuckle and shaking her head.

"She'd probably turn up the heat and stay around to watch you sweat..."

 _Hmm, well_  that _was a little odd once expressed out loud... A tad erotic..._

Scolding her ever sporadic thoughts with a bemused smirk, she offers a distrustful glance towards the bottle in her hand and promptly screws the lid back in place, licking the last of the sweet residue from her lips in a childish manner. She is unsure on the exact science behind it, but heat has always had a bit of a giddy effect on her system. Something she had learnt the hard way- several times- when living in Florida; her sex-drive increasing dramatically and making her antsy and quick to anger.

Mixing such heated tension with whisky is simply  _asking_  for trouble.

_Again, something which took quite a few... Mishaps... To make any lasting impression, hmmm?_

"Quit while you're ahead..."

She mutters to herself as she pushes herself up from the floor to stretch her back in an oddly feline manner. A knock on the door has her breaking into a relieved grin; Ruby having promised to hunt around the supply closet at Granny's for a spare fan or two, and she pads into the hallway swiftly; rubbing her hands on her jeans in an effort to clean them of paint and sweat before opening the door.

"Hey, du- Oh... It's  _you_..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was mentioned in FF.net that a few people felt this chapter should have a warning due to it treading the line- in some readers' eyes- of being non-con. It is in no way intended to be non-con/ rapey, more just surprise, and your general 'holy shit, what the hell is this, now!?'... I think it's safe to say by the end that both parties have little issue with the happenings here :p

"Hey, du- Oh... It's  _you_..."

The Mayor blinks as she takes in the picture the younger woman creates as she stands in the doorway; long hair disheveled and her stomach glistening with paint, and what she presumes to be sweat.

_Charming, dear._

Raising a well sculpted brow as her lips form a belated sneer, she finds wary green with bemusement as Emma visibly pulls herself together and adopts a disinterested glower while crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"It's me..."

"What, uh... What do you want?"

An arrogant sniff, but it does little to hide the color creeping across the blonde's pale cheeks. Offering the younger woman a look that suggests she's not fooled by such mediocre nonchalance in the slightest, Regina motions with her jaw as if to ask if she may be permitted to cross the threshold, and the Sheriff moves aside with a sigh, padding into the living room to locate her shirt.

_Why her? Why now? Can't she wait until I at least get some fucking air-con installed before forcing me to deal with her crap?_

"Well, this answers  _one_  question, I suppose..."

"What's that?"

"I'd been meaning to ask you if you made a habit of answering the door semi-clothed, or if such indecency was saved purely for myself."

"...Don't flatter yourself."

Emma scoffs, but the blush coloring her cheeks blossoms slowly down to redden her throat as she recalls both the incident the Mayor speaks of, as well as her own- less than innocent- thoughts not so long ago. Squeezing her eyes shut for a second as she stands with her back to the brunette, she wills herself to keep her cool-  _ha! If only_ \- and reminds herself that one of Regina's greatest pleasures in life is to wind her up.

 _And my_ god _, is she good at it..._

"Oh, I'm not sure flattery is the term I'd use myself, dear. I would deem 'emotionally scarred' to be much more fitting."

The Sheriff gives a rueful chuckle at this, rolling her eyes as she turns back to face the Mayor and perches on the edge of one of the boxes that line the wall. She has donned the over-sized, plain white shirt she had been wearing when painting with Henry, but negates to button it up, simply letting it hang casually open to allow a generous peek at the simple black bra she wears beneath.

"Whatever you say, Regina."

A shrug and a sigh from the blonde, and the Mayor scolds herself as her eyes drop to a smattering of white paint that freckles the soft curve of the younger woman's left breast. Returning her gaze hastily back up to regard cool green, she frowns as she catches the hint of a smirk touching pale lips and imagines Emma is all too aware of where her attention had previously been lingering. Clearing her throat and giving herself a firm mental shake from such nonsense, she adopts a disdainful tone, allowing dark eyes to wander the bare apartment with exaggerated distaste.

"I _love_  what you've done with the place."

"Thanks, for the right fee I might just come by and do yours..."

That irritatingly dry drawl- like leaves crackling in a forest fire- and the brunette glowers in frustration; playful green glittering up at her despite the Sheriff's otherwise bored expression.

"The right _fee_...?"

"Well, I'm not one to offer my services for  _free_ , Madame Mayor..."

"My dear, I would find it a  _service_  should you stay as far away from my home as possible."

Emma surprises her by chuckling at this, before blowing air up at the soft curls that tumble disobediently over her forehead.

"Fine, ok, my decorating services aren't required... So what  _can_  I do for you?"

She sighs; sure that whatever reason the Mayor has for paying her a visit isn't going to be an favorable one. She studies the darker woman with well-masked interest as Regina continues to scan the worse for wear boxes stacked against the wall and keeps her waiting.

_We work on 'Regina time' or not at all... That much I've learnt..._

The brunette appears as immaculately put together as always- something the Sheriff finds grossly unfair given the sticky humidity of the day- and she takes in the crisp sleeveless shirt in a deep scarlet that contrasts prettily with sun-kissed slim arms and neat, white linen pants appreciatively, feeling rather shitty in comparison.

The look Regina gives her when dark eyes finally come to rest on her paint splattered face suggests the Mayor is of a similar opinion.

"I trust you were aware of the state in which Henry left your apartment?"

The Mayor's tone drips with self proclaimed authority and Emma groans, rolling her eyes as she rests her back against a conveniently stacked box to her left.

"Really? You came all the way down here to argue about the kid getting a little bit of paint on his clothes?"

"I came all the way down here to ask you whether you imagine his clothes are summoned by magic, as I can assure you right now, this is  _not_  the case. When I spend good money on jeans, I don't-"

"Oh, come on, like this has  _anything_  to do with money-"

"-Miss Swan, I hardly think-"

"-You know what? Save it. Here."

Pushing herself up so as to access her back pocket, the blonde pulls a small wad of notes free from tight denim and counts out an even hundred. She holds crumpled green out to the Queen who regards her venomously.

"What's wrong? That's more than enough-"

"- This isn't about  _money_ , Sheriff, as you so cleverly deduced yourself. It's about  _Henry_ , and about you allowing him to do things you know full well he would never be allowed to do at home-"

"- _Painting_!? The kid's not allowed to _paint_?!"

"Of course he's allowed to paint! But not in his good clothes!"

"Oh for fuck's sake! You want to remove the stick from your ass just a little and wake up to the fact the boy's eleven and you don't even let him-"

"-No!  _You_  do not get to tell me how I should and should not raise my child!"

"He's my child _too_!"

"Yes, and yet you deem it perfectly acceptable to slob about in his company, half naked and on the bottle like some no good _hussy_! A fine mother _you_  make!"

" _What_  did you just say?!"

The brunette takes in a sharp breath as the Sheriff rounds on her aggressively, teeth flashing dangerously as she hisses down into the other woman's face, the scent of whisky lingering tangibly between them.

"You heard me well enough..."

"... And you know full well I would never-"

"-I know nothing of the sort..."

It is a low growl, despite the Mayor supposing deep down she really _does_  know Emma would know better...

But she is angry, and it's hot- so damn  _hot_  in here- and it has been a while since she has come to verbal blows with the younger woman, allowing her to forget just how easily the Sheriff seems to crawl beneath her skin like a virus.

"You take that back..."

Fury dances enticingly within the blonde's eyes, and the Mayor spares a confused thought for the fact that she is positive half of the venom shared between them is partially down to just how captivating the Sheriff can be when enraged. Taking a step back to create a little more space between them- Emma much too close, much too easy- the brunette reprimands her hand sternly as the appendage rises seemingly of its own accord to smite the perplexing woman where she stands.

_No. Don't do that. Don't let her elicit that._

It is frustrating, having to instruct herself to remain calm in such a way, as she is still vaguely aware of the mixed emotions that had plagued her before Sydney's arrival back home. She has less reason to hate the Sheriff than she once had, but the tension that exists between them is unlike any other she has ever experienced; the blonde pulling raw emotion from her with sickening ease.

"Fine."

She mutters low, letting out an irritable sigh as she feels the Sheriff's eyes flickering dangerously about her face. Pulling a hand through her glossy locks as she feels the beginnings of perspiration begin to prickle at her brow, she offers the younger woman a small nod of truce, clearing her throat pointedly when the latter places her hands on her hips; parting the wings of her shirt to expose the entirety of her bra and the soft curve of the globed flesh bound beneath.

Deducing the cause of the darker woman's discomfort, Emma fights the urge to grin irritably. Her emotions seem determined to misbehave as she regards the Queen, and she finds her attention returning again and again to scarlet lips which match the fabric of the Mayor's shirt perfectly-  _of course they do_ \- and slender fingers manicured much the same.

She is hot, she is frustrated, and she is angry at Regina for having the nerve to come marching over here to yell at her as though she were a disobedient child. Her tongue burns with whisky and her thoughts are somewhat muddled and she loathes the brunette for the magnetic pull she seems to possess; her eyes trained on a delicate droplet- the only visible sign that the darker woman isn't impervious to mother nature's wrath- as it begins its slow descent down the brunette's slender neck.

_I wonder what she tastes like..._

_Goddammit, Swan!_

She scolds herself furiously, demanding to know just what her body thinks it's doing reacting in such a way, but even as she does so- all too aware of the sweat trickling down her own back- she finds her imagination wandering salaciously and the telling thrum of heat between her legs she knows so well making itself known. It scares her a little; its intensity perverse, but then that is to be expected she supposes. Since coming to Storybrooke, she has been all but celibate, something which surprises her when she thinks on it, but with the chaos of the past year she has been rather preoccupied. Yes, there had been a slight pull towards Graham- it would be obscene to suggest now that she had been all but set to let him take her, to fuck her, given what had come to pass that evening- but it had been a complicated feeling; very different to the way she has felt about any of her previous sexual partners.

She had actually _liked_  him, for one.

_What about Neal...?_

_Oh no, don't you dare!_

And with that something within her snaps.

She's sick of thinking, sick of the constant chaos of thoughts that have littered her brain since coming here, and sick of the woman who stands before her now, who has played the cause of so much of the shit she's had to put up with over the past year.

_Fuck it._

She isn't entirely sure if she plans to strike the brunette or fuck her until she hears the dull thud of slender shoulder blades smacking against the wall and a cry of outrage pierces her ear.

Finding the source of that awful noise, she swallows it swiftly, dimly aware of sharp nails scratching her torso as they struggle to claw her away, but she simply presses her hips forcefully against the Mayor's own and traps those disobedient hands between her slick body and the darker woman's.

Regina's eyes shoot wide open as her back makes forceful contact with the wall- momentarily stunned- before the blonde covers her mouth with her own and presses against her wantonly. Her brows arch in shock, her fingers trailing damp, bare flesh as she struggles to keep her lips firmly together despite the skilled nipping and tugging of sharp, white teeth.

_What in the world?!_

She strives for coherent thought, but the taste of whisky on the Sheriff's breath is inexplicably intoxicating- the drink itself one she rarely touches, but, when lingering on the younger woman's tongue she can see some of the appeal; so utterly debauched as hot velvet flickers against scarlet petals, demanding entrance- and she parts her lips just a little, her mind racing as the fingertips of her trapped hand graze the underside of black satin unintentionally.

As the younger woman deepens their kiss to battle with the brunette for the dominance she is so frequently denied in their everyday encounters, Regina finds herself overwhelmed with the curious sensation of power. Magic crackles between them with a dangerous static and, though it  _does_  cross her mind to simply  _force_  the Sheriff off of her by means of her power, she is unable to access control over her magic; Emma's very being seeming to counteract any attempt she makes, and she is reminded of the blonde's curious abilities the night with the wraith.

Coming to the realisation she will have to rely on her physical power alone; the Queen manages to wrestle one hand free from the slick prison of their bodies and buries it into the thick mass of the Sheriff's curls, yanking ruthlessly.

" _Ah!_ "

A choked cry as her head is pulled back painfully, and Emma snarls at the darker woman furiously, slamming her hips roughly against the brunette's in reprimand as she struggles against the cruel grip on her hair to bite down angrily on the delicate flesh of the Mayor's throat; her teeth nipping painfully, but her mouth open and wet to sooth abused skin.

"Em-ma!"

No pretence, no niceties, no pussy-footing around and addressing the younger woman by her last name.

Because this is not the time nor the place.

There is a tension building within her which is nauseating, and the brunette can't help but feel that every frustrated growl and furious glower they have shared recently might just make sense. The thought terrifies her; the very idea of having harboured an underlying attraction to the Sheriff- with all that she knew as to just who the hateful woman was- entirely ludicrous.

"Emma..."

She growls the Sheriff's name again in an attempt to rouse a response- to rouse a touch of sanity- as her fingers remain entwined within golden tresses, but the younger woman pays her no mind, simply continuing a slow trail down to her collarbone, and she is loathe to admit that such attentions are having an effect on her body she seems powerless to resist.

"Stop this at once! What are you  _doing_?!"

But she knows. Even before strong fingers fiddle free the first of the four buttons lining her shirt with dexterous ease, she knows exactly what the blonde is doing, and she bites back a moan as the latter scrapes her teeth roughly over the salted flesh newly exposed.

"You can't..."

"Watch me..."

It is an irritable hiss as the rest of the small buttons are progressively rendered useless- deep scarlet wings parting to expose crimson lace- and Regina suppresses a shiver at the raw lust that whispers against the vulnerable column of her throat.

Gasping as the blonde nips at the whorls of lace that cover her chest, she makes one final attempt to regain some sense of sanity and wrestle the younger woman off of her as the latter pushes her bra up and out of the way shamelessly, but her want is beginning to build and she groans as she feels the uncomfortable sensation of her shirt plastered to the sweat running down her back; a result of the hellish heat of both the apartment and the Sheriff herself.

_This can't be happening..._

But it can, and she would be lying if she claimed she had not occasionally stopped to ponder the blonde's aesthetic appeal despite her loathing. That said, she would never in a million years have entertained the scenario which currently takes place, but she is coherent enough to acknowledge that where her mind condemns their act, her body wills it; her lips allowing an odd little purr to escape them as sly fingers slip to the waistband of her pants.

Emma smirks into hot flesh.

The blonde's thoughts aren't all that dissimilar to the Mayor's. Somewhere in the back of her mind, her sanity pounds its fists uselessly; screaming to be heard over the sweet sexual adrenaline that drowns out its cries, but it is a futile battle, doomed to fail. She has always been one to put carnal desire before the clear repercussions of the act, and this is no different.

She is hot and frustrated and needs release.

Invading crisp linen and soft silk, she returns her lips once more to the brunette's; the darker woman keening softly into her mouth as she fights with herself valiantly to keep her calm.

Regina kisses the Sheriff back by pure instinct, the vague acknowledgment of her surprise at the younger woman's talent in the act flickering brokenly through her brain. It has been a long time since someone has touched her the way the blonde does now, and for it to be the Saviour that slips her fingers into the slick wetness that has built at her centre is almost too much for her to take.

"Oh god..."

She mumbles against soft lips, replacing her earlier struggles to fight the blonde off of her with a slow exploration of her hand; trailing hard muscle and slick flesh until she finds soft satin and she brushes her thumb over the luxurious material experimentally.

The act is rewarded generously, as slim fingers corkscrew deliciously to find her most sensitive spot with an ease that has her wondering distractedly

_Girls?_

_Women?_

_Jail?_

She doesn't preserver to form these sporadic words into coherent thought, but instead opens her previously clenched thighs just a little to allow more of that sweet sensation.

The Sheriff's attentions speed up.

Throwing all caution to the wind- as her inner muscles being to clench tellingly and their kiss becomes a frantic dance between the want to taste and the need for air- she drags her nails roughly down the younger woman's stomach hard enough to leave a mark and draw a singular bead of blood at the mercy of her ring finger.

"Ugn..."

Unintelligible, sure, but Regina takes the addition of the blonde's thumb brushing against her need as a sign that her actions have been well received, and she allows her own hand to cup rough denim without thought; the heat against her palm exquisite.

Grinding against the Mayor's proffered hand wantonly- the roughly stitched seam running the crotch of her jeans adding delicious friction- Emma stops fooling around and puts her full effort into her work, perspiration now glistening freely at temples.

"Oh no, oh no..."

Negative words, but the Sheriff pays the darker woman's choked mantra little mind as she feels the brunette tip over the edge, the Mayor's breathing laboured as she continues to brush her lips against the blonde's, before the younger woman slams her head back against the wall with the force of her kiss; allowing Regina to cut off her own cry as she comes undone, moving her hips against the Mayor's palm as the latter continues to tremble.

* * *

"Fuck..."

About two minutes pass- filled with nothing but quiet panting- before the Sheriff finally pushes herself awkwardly away from the brunette who remains leant against the wall with hooded eyes. Emma slips her hand from the Mayor's pants briskly, not entirely sure if wiping her fingers on her jeans would be seen as bad manners, nor sure why she cares.

Fevered scarlet colours both of the women's cheeks, and Regina wipes her hand distractedly over her mouth- her lipstick nothing but a ghosted memory- as she keeps her eyes trained anywhere but on the Sheriff.

"...Quite..."

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Emma takes a few steps back and buttons up her shirt, her attention slipping every now and then to the soft flesh of the Mayor's stomach which remains on display.

"Well... That _certainly_  wasn't the reason I came over here..."

Flushed or not, the brunette's tone remains as authoritative and unflustered as ever, and the blonde finds herself laughing in surprise before biting her lip.

"Good cover..."

Rolling her eyes with an irritable sniff, Regina drops her attention to her open shirt and pushes herself from the wall in order to fasten it back up.

"What the..."

Frowning as she runs an exploratory hand swiftly over the back, she rounds on the Sheriff angrily, her breasts still merrily on display as crimson fabric gapes open with just the one button fastened.

"Look what you've done! Paint! It's everywhere!"

"... Ah, I believe _that_  was your reason for paying me a visit... Pity. I liked that shirt."


End file.
